


Not yours

by JaqofSpades



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: 54 prompts in 54 days, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 11:39:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2268336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/pseuds/JaqofSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a dark, desperate part of him that would do anything, <i>anything</i> to keep Miles for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not yours

**Author's Note:**

> Standalone ficlet written as part of 54 prompts in 54 days over at the nbc_revolution community on LJ.

Miles was half in love with Emma from the day he met her, and that, of course, meant Bass had to hate her. And do his best to have her. But Emma just laughed, pushed them both away, said they weren't really interested in her anyway.

“Come back when you've sorted whatever this is out,” she'd smirked from her spot under the bleachers, and they'd all laughed and settled into being friends. Course, that lasted until the first time they all got wasted together, Bass giggling into Miles' neck while Emma gabbled about just how _high_ they were and how _cute_ they were and _just kiss him for fuck's sake, Bass_. On the lips, she'd instructed, breathlessly, and crawled so close to watch that pulling her in seemed appropriate.

“So we're friends who fuck,” she'd shrugged the next day, and they'd kept it like that for a while, an entire year of the three of them learning about this adult shit together, Miles and Bass and Miles and Emma and Emma and Bass. It was good, maybe the best thing he'd ever had, but something changes and suddenly Miles has her convinced that it's the two of them, forever, and as soon as he and Bass are done with boot camp, he'll marry her.

No, Bass thinks. You won't. And tells him to drink up, one more can't hurt. Then knocks his own glass over, and never gets around to refilling it. Miles is a beautiful streak of drunken misery snoring on the couch when he turns to look at Emma, and smiles.

He knows, by now, just how to tease her, and how drunk she'll need to be. Knows it's wrong on a bunch of different levels, and knows he'll always be sorry. But none of that can stop the mean, swelling chorus that drowns out his conscience.

Mine, it yowls. And he ignores soft curves and the spill of pretty red hair to imagine a long, bony body and the harsh scrape of a past-midnight chin, whiskey breath and hip bones like coat hangers punching into his own. Ignores everything that's right, and decent, and loyal, and sets it free, that dark, desperate part of him that will do anything, _anything_ , for Miles.

Mine, it roars at Trenton. Mine, it shrieks at Rachel, and Nora, and that bitch from Georgia who'd tried to seduce his General away. Mine, it cries as the coffins get smaller and smaller, his heart shrivelling a little more with each one.

Mine, it bleats pathetically as his broken heart tries to understand what Miles has done. His son – Emma's son – kept from him, all these years. 

He tries to picture the boy he and Emma might have made, tries to say the words, but they stick in his throat, the property of someone else for too long. It makes him retch, now, the acid burn of regret and anger and his chickens coming home to roost, but it doesn't change anything. Mine, he thinks wearily, and smells the stench of it, all burning flesh and rotting poison, but when the end comes, that shuffle down the centre of the courthouse to be put down like an animal, he's still searching for that saturnine face in the crowd.

He doesn't find it, and it kills him, but still he bids the girl to “take care of your Uncle, kid.” She will, he knows that, because he's seen the love that arcs between them, that will pull Miles back from the brink in a way that no amount of Rachel's harping ever could. He tries to be glad of it, tries to go to his death grateful, but even as darkness swims in, it bites.

Mine, he tells Charlie, Rachel, Nora, Emma, and struggles to form the name with his final breath. Miles. (Not yours. Mine.)

*


End file.
